


Four Walls

by stardropdream



Category: Kobato
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-24
Updated: 2013-02-24
Packaged: 2017-12-03 10:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/697214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It took getting used to again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Walls

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ November 9, 2011.

It’s overwhelming in its familiarity.   
  
He lights up outside the nursery, leaning against the wall surrounding the playground. It seems unreasonably empty. Money troubles over, Fujimoto is looking to go back to school. He still gives Okiura the long stare, as if suddenly he’s going to change his mind. But it isn’t just that. Somehow, it seems even emptier than usual. He can’t place the feeling of absence, and eventually gives it up.   
  
The parents leading their children to the school give his cigarette a dirty glare, but he isn’t ready to quit. He politely blows his smoke downwind, away from the children. Sayaka will scold him if he didn’t do that much.   
  
The day starts. He can hear Sayaka greeting the children. Her voice is light and happy.   
  
He smiles and inhales.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
It’s foreign, this familiarity.   
  
It’s something they had to get used to again. There is hesitancy as he steps into what was once their home, then her home, now their home again. It looks exactly the same, except for the rearrangement of some furniture.   
  
She smiles at him, as if unsure if he’d like the new arrangement. Her hand finds his, and he gives her a small smile back—unused to smiling with such sincerity again, unused to honesty. He doesn’t have to hide anymore.   
  
He follows her through the apartment, as if he doesn’t already know where everything is, as if it was the first time he’d ever been here. She looks into the fridge, but doesn’t see anything worthwhile to prepare.   
  
A quarter of an hour later finds them with order-out food, and sitting at the table with her feels as if it has always been, as if there hasn’t been an (almost unbearable) absence for so long. She still sits in the same place she always did.   
  
Her hand finds his across the table. She curls her fingers around his, brushing against his knuckles. Her hand is so much warmer compared to his.   
  
His fingers itch for a cigarette, but he resists. The ashtrays from the apartment are missing.   
  
  
\---  
  
  
It’s crushing in its familiarity.   
  
She leads him to the bedroom. He doesn’t drag his feet, but there is a hesitancy. As always, she can sense his hesitancy.   
  
“The bed’s too large on my own,” she says, not shyly, just concretely. She raises one eyebrow, peering at him over her glasses.   
  
She reaches out and touches his hand. His fingers curl around hers automatically.  
  
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “It’s all okay now.”   
  
He smiles, uncertain, reaches up and takes the glasses off so he can lean down to kiss her—what else could he possibly do?


End file.
